


Moths

by travellinghopefully



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Cats, Gen, Moths, TARDIS - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:59:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4342259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>writing this whilst writing something else....its the time of year when moths fly into the house and my cat feels compelled to hunt them down at 3 am....at the same time abandoning all the grace that he possesses at all other times</p><p>so, the Tardis had moths, the Doctor is not happy<br/>kittens are a weapon</p><p>(not happy with any of the story at the moment, but still keeping it)</p><p>ALL AND ANY SUGGESTIONS WELCOME!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moths

Moths

There was an almighty crash, the sound of breaking glass, the sound of things spilling. The Tardis turned the lights on full, and I fell out of bed.

To be honest, that wasn’t that unusual.

Naturally, Aslan was curled up at the foot of the bed, his tail wrapped over his nose making a perfect circle, gently purring as if he had been there all night.

There was a distinct sound of shouting, the words not clear, but the angry intent very.

Racing into the console room, I stopped. The Doctor was against one wall, holding Arno out in front of him. Arno was making outraged mewing noises.

“WE HAVE MOTHS!”  
“What Doctor?”  
“MOTHS! I said it clearly and distinctly, MOTHS! Something has to be done!”

I looked baffled.

“I am certain you have moths on earth, just must have at least heard of them.”

I mentally reviewed what I knew of moths and still couldn’t make sense of things – maybe I was still asleep? Yes, that made infinitely more sense.

“Is this too much for your pudding brain?”  
I glared. “Really Doctor, I don’t get it, what’s so bad about moths? Surely you just left the door open, the lights on and few flew in. They’ll bat themselves against the fixtures for a few hours and then, pffft.”

The Doctor shook his head at me in disbelief. He moved Arno into a more comfortable position, looking him in the eyes and said “at least you understand.”  
Arno wriggled, demanding to get down, as much into hugging and snuggling as the Doctor. Arno landed daintily on the floor and sauntered towards the ever present saucer of milk. Looking from Arno to the Doctor I was struck by the fact that Arno’s long, soft, silvery fur, perfectly matched the Doctor’s hair. I filed that away into the “never, ever, ever say out loud” section of my brain.

“So?” the Doctor demanded.  
“I’m sorry. I really don’t get it, what’s wrong with moths?”  
The Doctor looked at me with his best angry owl stare (don’t say that out loud either, no, “shut up brain”).  
“Have you seen my jumper? IT HAS HOLES!”  
“It already had holes Doctor.” (Don’t roll your eyes, he’s never impressed when you roll your eyes).  
“This one didn’t! And, why aren’t you dressed?”  
“I am dressed, well sort of, I was in bed, asleep, and there was an almighty crash and shouting ... and just because I don’t wear 357 layers like you seem compelled to!”

I turned and stomped off towards where I hoped the kitchen would be today, stomping off wasn’t very effective when you found you’d walked into a cupboard. The Tardis wasn’t nearly as funny as she thought she was.

A nice, soothing mug of tea, that would do the trick. 

Ah, maybe not. The sound of the crashing and spilling had obviously come from the kitchen. It looked worse (if that was possible) than after the last time the Doctor had tried to “improve” things.

Well the kettle was still there. I filled it, turned it on and opened a cupboard for a mug, slammed the door and ran back out of the kitchen screaming like a little girl at a boy band concert.

I raced back into the console room and smack into the Doctor.

He stepped back, fixed me with his “superior Time Lord” stare and said, “I told you we had moths.”  
“That’s not a moth, that’s the stuff of nightmares. What did you expect Arno to do against something like that, it’s twice his size?”  
The Doctor sighed. “It is a well known fact that cats are the natural predators of moths, and consequently moths are repelled by them. Arno successfully cornered that brute in the kitchen.”  
“Arno is a kitten Doctor, you can’t be hiding behind him.”  
Affronted dignity was now the best description of the Doctor’s expression. “I was not hiding. Arno was repelling any other lurking moths, and it would have been pointless for him to do that standing behind me.”

I wasn’t about to remind the Doctor that he had been holding Arno out at arms length whilst he had been pressed against the Tardis wall/bookshelf.  
Suppressing shudders at the thought of the thing in the cupboard and any thoughts of how many more of the things there might be, I tried to sound bright and confident. “Should I get Aslan then?”


End file.
